In my life of twenty years, I have seen schizophrenia from up close, like a nanometer from your pupils kind of close. Why a schizophrenic woman and a delirious man would marry and even worse, go on to have a child beats me; however, the fact that I turned out NOT as a schizophrenic provides some consolation, soon to be snatched away by the fact that I was violated by the age of three, got a stitch in my head at the age of four, and the nails of my big toes uprooted at the age of five.
Born and raised in a turbulent family environment, it is only natural that the child would have had no means of learning self-love. All through year one till five, my mother had been on a mission to find and save my twin sister, who, she proclaimed, was being severely tortured in a basement somewhere, and every time she heard the siren of an ambulance, she'd run towards the nearest window, lean out and shout, "Give me my daughter back! My beloved daughter..." and soon afterward, would break into tears.
I was her only child and I never had a twin sister. But she never believed that, no matter what you told her, and no matter how many people tried to persuade her.
I would grow up to be a fairly intelligent kid who consistently did well academically, but by the age of twelve my neuroses developed and by thirteen, I had developed anorexia nervosa, followed by bulimia, which was followed by countless attempts to end myself and substance abuse.
But the strangest thing of all was that no matter what I did, I just wouldn't die. Death brushed my face with its wings more than once, but it never came knocking at my door. It's almost as if I'm fated to die somewhere else and thus, no matter how hard I try, I cannot die here.
Maybe I'm destined to die in another continent, perhaps even Lithuania or Slovenia, on a resplendent day, a gentle breeze blowing, my Death Soundtrack playing in the background, looking at a pretty human with even prettier eyes passing by my window, smiling at them one last time as I heave my last breath.
YOU ARE READING
An Attempt Was Made
General Fictionan attempt was made to write a novella. includes mentions of suicide, abuse, and violence. reader discretion is advised.
